


Christmas Wish

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28456221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “I’m Charlotte Dennon, New York 1.”“Lemme see...Charlotte Dennon wants a ‘Tiffany engagement ring, and for your boyfriend to stop dragging his feet and commit already’!”Courfeyrac cackled and for some reason twisted around to smirk at Grantaire. “Looks like the film writers cribbed from Grantaire’s Christmas list for that one,” he teased.Most of the other Amis laughed at that, though Enjolras frowned, his hand stilling from where he had been running it through Grantaire’s hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 175





	Christmas Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Because sometimes you need to write the self-indulgent Christmas misunderstandings-with-a-happy-ending fic you wish to read.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

_“A young boy has just come running out of the park...Let me see if I can get a comment...Did you see anything?” **  
**_

_“It's the real Santa! His sleigh can't fly cause nobody believes in him!”_

_“Now, this is feeling more and more like some kind of elaborate Christmas hoax.”_

“Typical,” Combeferre said dismissively over the sound of _Elf_ playing from the TV in Courfeyrac’s living room as all of Les Amis lounged around, ostensibly watching the film, which was one of their holiday traditions. “The mainstream media agenda at work, propping up a capitalist system by decreasing belief in Santa Claus.”

Grantaire snorted and shifted from where he was lying on the couch, his feet propped up on Bossuet and his head resting in Enjolras’s lap. “I realize that you deny nothing, which apparently extends to Santa Claus, but I don’t think you can dismiss lack of belief in the Big Guy as a media coverup.”

“Besides, all you need is to call it the ‘lamestream’ media and you’ll sound more like a QAnon supporter than anything else,” Jehan added blithely, ignoring the wounded noise that Combeferre made at the insinuation.

“You take that back—” he started, but Courfeyrac elbowed him.

“Shh,” he scolded, “I’m trying to watch.”

Combeferre rubbed his ribs and grimaced. “Right, because we haven’t seen this movie a hundred times before,” he muttered.

Courfeyrac ignored him as the kid in the movie flipped through Santa’s book. 

_“What’s your name?”_

_“I’m Charlotte Dennon, New York 1.”_

_“Lemme see...Charlotte Dennon wants a ‘Tiffany engagement ring, and for your boyfriend to stop dragging his feet and commit already’!”_

Courfeyrac cackled and for some reason twisted around to smirk at Grantaire. “Looks like the film writers cribbed from Grantaire’s Christmas list for that one,” he teased.

Most of the other Amis laughed at that, though Enjolras frowned, his hand stilling from where he had been running it through Grantaire’s hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Grantaire squirmed, trying to get Enjolras to resume stroking his hair.

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow at him. “It means that you and Grantaire have been dating for, what, five years now?” he said, as if the answer were obvious. 

“Off and on,” Enjolras said, feeling defensive even if he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Right, so five years of dating, and you’ve been living together for two years now…” Courfeyrac trailed off and Enjolras just stared blankly at him. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Leave it alone,” Joly said, a little sharply. “Not everyone wants to be married and live in the suburbs with two point five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.”

“Though to be fair, there is nothing wrong with wanting that,” Cosette piped up, patting Marius’s hand loyally.

Marius glanced at her. “Is the point five part of the kids negotiable at least?”

Bahorel cleared his throat. “Can we please,” he started, an unspoken threat clear in every word, “go back to watching the damn movie?”

Everyone fell silent, all remembering far too well the Sound of Music fist fight of 2016, where Bahorel took Jehan’s then-boyfriend outside to beat him up for mocking the movie. The rest of the movie passed in relative silence, and once it was over, everyone took their leave. 

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” Courfeyrac said as he held the door open for Enjolras and Grantaire. Combeferre cleared his throat pointedly from behind him and Courfeyrac reluctantly added, “And, uh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said easily, giving Courfeyrac a one-armed hug before he and Enjolras left.

But Enjolras was not so quick to forget, and he was silent as they walked towards their place, the chilly December night lending itself better to walking than waiting for an Uber. After the silence between them had stretched for several minutes, Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire, who sighed. “Don’t,” he said warningly, and Enjolras scowled.

“Don’t what?” he asked defensively.

“Don’t even start.”

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I have no idea—”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t going to bring up what Courfeyrac said?” he asked pointedly.

“No,” Enjolras said immediately, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed and amended, “Ok, yes, I was, but—”

“But Courfeyrac has a shitty sense of humor sometimes,” Grantaire interrupted with forced levity. “That doesn’t mean we need to ruin our Christmas Eve Eve by indulging his idiotic fantasies.”

Enjolras glanced at his watch. “Technically, it’s now actually Christmas Eve.”

“And that’s not the point.”

Enjolras made a face. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, hesitating before giving Grantaire a sideways glance. “And you’re not normally that rude about our friends. At least, not behind their backs. You’re plenty rude to their faces.”

Grantaire didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes. “Yeah, well, our friends normally know better than to stir up things that they shouldn’t,” he muttered.

Enjolras seized the opportunity. “Since it has been stirred up—” he started, and Grantaire snorted.

“Hell of a segue.”

“—I think it’s something we should talk about,” Enjolras finished doggedly.

Grantaire groaned. “Must we?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Is there a reason you don’t want to?”

“Answering a question with a question,” Grantaire said sourly. “That’s a neat trick.”

Enjolras nudged him. “So is deflection.”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine. The reason I don’t want to is because it’s Christmas. And we’re supposed to be, y’know, holly jolly and shit.”

“Holly jolly and shit,” Enjolras repeated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Well that certainly captures the festive mood.”

But Grantaire didn’t seem amused. “You know what I mean.”

“So why do you think talking about this will ruin the holly jolly mood you’ve clearly gone to great lengths to cultivate?” Enjolras asked mildly.

“Because I don’t think this conversation is going to have the outcome you’re hoping for.”

Grantaire delivered the words bluntly, but Enjolras didn’t flinch. “Because you want us to get married and I don’t,” he guessed, less a question than a statement.

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said, with actual amusement, “quite the opposite.”

Enjolras stopped in his tracks. “Wait, you don’t want to get married?” he asked, a little stupidly.

“Absolutely not.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Like, you don’t want to get married to me, or you don’t want to get married at all?”

It was Grantaire’s turn to stop in his tracks, turning to face Enjolras, something urgent in his expression. “I love you.”

Enjolras looked warily at him. “I know, and I love you, too. But why—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I just don’t want you to go into this conversation that you insist on having with any kind of doubt in your mind about that.”

Enjolras’s expression softened. “I never would doubt that,” he said, tugging Grantaire close and pressing a kiss to his temple. “So you love me, and I love you, and like Courfeyrac said, we’ve been dating for years, living together for years...isn’t marriage the next logical step?”

“For some people, sure,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean it needs to be for us.”

“Because you don’t want to get married.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you do want to get married?”

“No,” Enjolras said, a little too quickly, and he winced. “I mean, not because of you. If I were to marry anyone, it would be you. I’m just...not big on the institution of marriage, the perpetuation of the patriarchy, certain segments of the gay community acting like marriage equality was the end of the fight for equal rights…” He trailed off. “But you know all of that.”

“I sure do.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “So is that why you don’t want to get married? Because you think I don’t want to?”

Again Grantaire laughed, and again, it took Enjolras by surprise. “Enjolras, believe me, if I wanted to be married to you, we’d be married, whether you wanted to or not.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you’re historically terrible at denying me something that you think I really want,” Grantaire said easily. “Which is probably a consent issue that we should discuss more some time, but that’s not really the point.”

It wasn’t, so Enjolras didn’t press it. “So you really just don’t want to marry me?”

“Not so much, no,” Grantaire agreed.

“But...this is – this is a forever thing for me,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said instantly.

“And don’t you want this forever too?”

Grantaire grinned at him. “There is absolutely nothing I want more.”

“Then why…?”

Grantaire sighed and looked away. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this at Christmas,” he said. “Total mood killer.” Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire sighed again. “I don’t want to be married to you because if we were married, you would never divorce me, or walk away, no matter how much you might want to.”

“I—” Enjolras started, but he couldn’t seem to find any words to say to that.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

As much as Enjolras wanted to tell him that he was, he knew better than to try. “No.”

Grantaire nodded. “Because when you make a promise, you keep it. It’s just who you are.” His tone turned fond. “Too damned stubborn to admit defeat, no matter how much you should.”

Enjolras frowned. “Ok, but again, isn’t that what you want?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “You think that I would want you locked into a marriage, which is an institution you don’t even believe in, just so that you could never leave me?”

“I—” Enjolras broke off, flustered. “Honestly, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Wise man. I don’t want you to be with me because you have to be with me. I want to know that you are with me because you want to be, not because you made some arbitrary vow.” Enjolras opened his mouth to interrupt but Grantaire didn’t let him. “I want to wake up every day in your arms and know without a question of a doubt that you could walk away any time you wanted, but that you choose to stay. That’s what I want. And I’d like to think that’s what you want, too.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was silent, staring at Grantaire as if he’d never quite seen him before. “Well,” he finally managed around the lump in his throat, “when you put it like that...”

He didn’t even bother trying to finish his sentence, just cupping Grantaire’s cheek with one mittened hand and kissing him deeply. Grantaire returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, balling his hands in Enjolras’s red coat.

They stayed that way for a long time, long enough that when they pulled away from each other, they both immediately looked up at the sky. “Is that snow?” Enjolras asked stupidly.

But Grantaire just laughed, and Enjolras smiled at him. “What?” he asked.

“We are kissing in the snow on Christmas Eve,” Grantaire said, grinning up at the flakes swirling from the sky. “If this were a very different story, you’d get down on one knee right now and ask me to marry you, and we’d have a happily ever after for Christmas straight out of a Hallmark movie.”

“If Hallmark wasn’t a bunch of homophobic cowards, anyway,” Enjolras grumbled good naturedly.

  
Grantaire just laughed and shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Enjolras said, grinning, and without warning, he took a step back from Grantaire before kneeling down on one knee. “And you’ve just given me an idea.”

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, staring at him. “Did you seriously just not listen to a word I said, or…?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “I absolutely listened to everything you’ve said, because I love listening to you talk. I love everything about you. You don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. And I know better than to make a promise to you, even if you deserve all the promises in the world. But it is Christmas, and it’s snowing, and I love you more than anyone in the world. So Grantaire, I have to ask – will you not marry me?”

“You are such a fucking dork,” Grantaire said, exasperatedly. “Of course I will not marry you.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, satisfied, and he stood up, kissing Grantaire once more before taking his hand. :Now let’s go home. I want to make love to the love of my life.:

“Romantic,” Grantaire said with a snort, but he was grinning.

“Whom I will never marry,” Enjolras added.

“You sure know how to woo a boy,” Grantaire said wryly, still grinning, and he leaned in and kissed Enjolras’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

Enjolras wrapped his arm around Grantaire’s waist, turning to kiss Grantaire lightly on top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire,” he whispered.


End file.
